A Friendly Chat
by Kenyade
Summary: Grunt and Garrus have a revealing conversation about tank imprints and the genophage.


_**Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect 2 or its characters. Just the stories I make.**_

_**Warning: SPOILERS!!!**_

**This oneshot came out of a conversation with a good friend of mine.**

**UPDATE: I just noticed that this was the first fic about Grunt and Garrus on the site. WIN!**

**Hope you enjoy it.**

"A Friendly Chat"

Garrus sat in the Normandy's mess hall, quietly munching on some turian-safe food while reading something on his datapad. The only other person in the mess was Sergeant Gardner, who was cleaning his workstation.

The heavy footfalls were Garrus's first clue that Grunt was coming. The thick stench of battle was the second clue.

The table shuddered as the large krogan sat down heavily across from the turian.

"Grunt," Garrus said by way of greeting, not looking up from his datapad. The krogan grunted and called out to Gardner.

"Ryncol. Now."

"Right away, your highness," said Gardner, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "One ryncol for the frog prince coming right up!"

A low rumble escaped Grunt's throat. "What did you say, human?"

Gardner set the ryncol down forcefully on the table in front of Grunt.

"You heard what I said."

The pair had an intense glaring match, and Garrus readied himself to step in should it come to blows. But the turian's assistance turned out to be unnecessary as Grunt suddenly smirked, picked up the ryncol, and tipped it slightly towards Gardner.

"You're not as smooth as you look, Gardner. You're alright."

Gardner shrugged and headed off towards the bathroom. "And I guess you're okay for a bloodthirsty savage."

Grunt made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough as he took a large gulp of his ryncol.

"Never thought I'd see you chum it up with anybody, Grunt," Garrus commented dryly. "Especially a non-krogan."

Grunt's good mood disappeared in a flash, and the large krogan fixed Garrus with a death glare.

"You got something to say, turian?" Grunt had practically spat the last word, and Garrus was taken aback by the venom in the krogan's voice. Despite the shock, the former C-Sec officer kept his cool.

"I've just never thought of you as the kind of guy who makes friends," explained Garrus with a shrug.

"Uh-huh, well, that's probably because I'm not," replied Grunt as he took another swig of his ryncol. "Never thought I'd meet such an astute turian."

"Never thought I'd meet a krogan who could correctly use astute in a sentence," retorted Garrus.

Grunt growled. "Your genophage killed our birthrates, turian. Not our brain cells."

"Ah, well, that's a common misconception," said Garrus as he leaned back in his chair. "It's not _our_ genophage. The salarian's created it."

"Same difference," replied Grunt. "The salarians made the gun, and you fired it. In the end, you're just as responsible as them. Even more so, seeing as you had the final say."

"Well, you krogan more or less took the decision out of our hands," argued Garrus. "Unleash the genophage or be wiped out? Not exactly a tough decision. You can't hate us for trying to survive."

"You can say the same thing about the geth," said Grunt. "And I don't hate turians for using the genophage. War is hell. And in hell, anything goes. I hate turians _because_ the genophage."

"That…doesn't make much sense," Garrus said after a moment.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," growled Grunt.

"Then maybe you should spell it out for me," replied Garrus, his temper rising.

The pair glared at each other in a heated silence for several long moments. Then, slowly, Grunt's eyes drifted to the ceiling and the krogan tapped his massive head.

"You have any terrible, vivid memories? Any horrific images permanently burned into your mind?"

Garrus was caught off guard by the question. "I'm not sure where this-"

"Just answer the _fucking question_," roared Grunt, a raging fire burning in his eyes.

Garrus was silent for a moment as he thought.

"Yeah, I guess I do," the turian finally replied.

"Alright, now imagine you see them in one hundred percent clarity," Grunt said. "I mean picture perfect. Imagine that they're more than just memories. Imagine that they're part of who you are; part of your very soul. Imagine that they can and do come unbidden to your mind." Grunt was silent for a moment. "Imagine you can't do anything to stop it."

Garrus swallowed hard. "We're talking about your tank imprints, aren't we?"

"_Of course we're talking about the __**fucking i**__mprints!_" The massive krogan slammed his fist onto the table, threatening to break it.

Garrus set his jaw. "Are we talking about the one with the dead turian at Canrum?" It was Grunt's turn to be caught off guard.

"Shepard told you about that?"

Garrus nodded. "Said he wanted me to be ready. Just in case."

Grunt was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "Well, I guess I shouldn't have expected any less from him. Shepard watches out for his clan. But that's not the imprint I am referring to."

"It's not?" asked Garrus, quite confused.

"No," replied Grunt, and Garrus was surprised to see that the krogan looked extremely uncomfortable. "I…didn't exactly tell Shepard the truth about that."

"_What_?" exclaimed Garrus, warning signs going off in his head.

"I told him I found the picture humorous, and that was true," explained Grunt as he massaged his neck. "But I also made it seem like that imprint made me hate turians. And that's not true."

Garrus narrowed his eyes dangerously. "What are you talking about?"

"The Canrum imprint didn't make me hate turians," said Grunt. "It just gave that hatred focus. A target. The hatred itself came from…a different imprint."

"What imprint was it!" demanded Garrus. "What was it of?"

Grunt didn't answer right away. Instead, the krogan grabbed the table edge with both hands and began to squeeze until there was a soft metallic squeal.

"Piles," Grunt stated between clenched teeth.

"Piles? Piles of what?" asked Garrus.

Grunt was silent again, squeezing the table edge even harder. The squeal grew louder.

"Bodies."

"Bodies? Whose bodies?" Garrus pressed, although the turian was no longer sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Grunt was breathing heavily, and he was squeezing the table so hard that the entire side began to warp. He didn't answer.

"Grunt? Did you hear me? I asked-," Garrus was cutoff as the massive krogan snapped.

"RAAAHG!" With a mighty heave, Grunt ripped the table free of the ground and sent it hurtling into the bulkhead. The table's contents scattered across the floor. Garrus barely had enough time to dive out of the way and avoid what would have been at best a very nasty concussion. The turian rose to his feet and took up a fighting stance, expecting the krogan to be almost on top of him. Garrus was shocked when he discovered that Grunt was standing in the exact same spot.

Grunt was taking loud, shuddering breaths. His hands, which were shaking fitfully, were held in front of his face. At first glance it looked like he was examining them intently, but a closer look showed that his eyes were wild and dangerous, and that he was staring into space, lost in whatever imprint had driven him to this momentary madness.

"Grunt?" Garrus said cautiously, still prepared to defend himself at the first sign of trouble.

"They're krogan bodies," Grunt said, although Garrus could tell that the krogan wasn't talking to anybody in particular. "They're the bodies of krogan babies who died in stillbirth. Piles and piles of them."

Garrus tried to swallow the giant lump that had formed in his throat, but found he couldn't.

"Oh."

There were a few tense moments of silence and then, slowly, Grunt lowered his arms and the fire left his eyes. The massive krogan simply stared at the ground.

"That's why I hate turians."

Carefully, Garrus exited his defensive stance and cleared his throat.

"Well, uh, I can certainly understand why you'd hate me, Grunt." The krogan's head snapped up, and Grunt stared at Garrus as if he had just realized that he was there.

"You? No." Grunt shook his massive head. "I don't hate you Garrus. You're just a single turian. What's more I've fought with you. I've seen you peg a target between the eyes at one hundred meters, no sweat. You're a part of Shepard's clan, and unless you ever cross me or the clan I won't waste my hate on you."

Garrus simply nodded, and Grunt turned his attention to the damage he had caused. A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the krogan.

"Heh. You know, it's funny. This is my hate. Not Okeer's. He tried to make me like him, make me be his legacy. But he failed. I have a clan now, and plenty of enemies to fight." The krogan looked at Garrus. "And I even have friends that I respect. That's more than the old bastard had."

As soon as Grunt had finished speaking, five people arrived on the scene. Miranda Lawson had come running out of her office, her pistol drawn and ready for action. Doctor Chakwas ran out of the medbay, her face determined and expecting the worse. Thane and Samara came out of their respective rooms, curious about the ruckus. Finally, Sergeant Gardner came hopping out of the bathroom, his pants still down.

"What happened here?" asked all five new arrivals in unison.

"Nothing much," replied Garrus as he glanced at Grunt and shrugged. "Just a friendly chat."

* * *

**Well, there you have it.**

**Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Please, if you noticed any typos or the like, please let me know.**

**Until next time.**

**Stay Frosty.  
**


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